


Always

by EnterWittyNameHere



Series: The Cannibal and the Canary [7]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: 1930s, Asexuality Spectrum, Blood Kink, Canon-Typical Gore, Choking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Reader, Human Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Hurt/Comfort, Just some more sin for y'all, Kinda Fluffy, Knifeplay, Leather Kink, Mild Blood, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oh shit here we go again..., Period-Typical Sexism, Possessive Behavior, Self-Indulgent, Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Touch Adverse Alastor, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering, Yandere Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), jk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24351343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnterWittyNameHere/pseuds/EnterWittyNameHere
Summary: Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back...
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Series: The Cannibal and the Canary [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689610
Comments: 12
Kudos: 171





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> This little piece was originally a WIP I started to try and break through my writer's block for the second half of Fallout. Instead, I wrote this feverishly in about a day, taking another to edit it, but still. One of the fastest pieces I've done. I hope it isn't too messy!
> 
> Also, I hesitated in including this in this series, as it was supposed to just be a one-shot on its own. But Reader is the same characterization and I think the themes/details in this match the ones in the series, so here we are. This Alastor is not quite the same as the one I've previously written, but he was fun in his own dastardly way!  
> And finally, canon says Alastor is mixed-raced; my headcanon Alastor is Creole :)

By the time your shift at the cafe ended, your feet and calf muscles were aching, and a dull headache had made itself known in the throbbing of your temples. You changed from your uniform and apron as quickly as you could, and thought briefly of stopping by your apartment to make sure your daddy and sister were alright; however, watching as the afternoon light began to elongate into the shadows of early evening, you decided to forgo the stop and caught the first trolley that would take you from town to the outskirts. From there, it was a bit of a walk and although your body protested slightly at the excursion after a long workday, knowing he would be there and expecting you powered you onward.

Much to your surprise, however, Alastor wasn't home when you arrived at the door of his small cabin, tucked away in the bayou. Although that wasn't necessarily odd in of itself, it did put you out a bit. The door was unlocked- also not unusual, not this far out- so you let yourself in, placing the bits of food you had snagged from the end of your shift down on the small kitchen table; the biscuits and day-old rice would keep just fine. You moved as if on autopilot and set the gas stove alight, grabbing for the kettle; in some strange way you were unfamiliar with, the thought of having something to offer him on his arrival made you warm on the inside.

You settled in his chair, legs curled up beneath you, coffee in hand, and opened the book on identifying local vegetation he had given you on your last visit. It wasn't the most thrilling read, but he had promised to begin taking you with him on his jaunts into the swamps, and you didn't want to seem completely naive...

You jolted awake at the sound of the front door shutting; by the time you had cleared your sleep-clouded mind, you could hear water running in the bathroom down the hall. You took a moment to roll your shoulders and arch your back, feeling the discs pop a few times, trying to recall when exactly you had fallen asleep. You shifted to your feet, patted down your hair and quickly straightened out your clothing before moving off down the hallway.

You raised a hand and gently rapped your knuckles against the door; you knew he'd welcome you, but he was still a man who preferred propriety. A rather lazy hum reached your ears through the wood and you pushed it open only to be met with fog from the hot bath and the smell of one of his clove cigarettes. Your feet moved you forward on muscle memory, and as you neared the large cast iron tub you were able to see him better through the heavy clouds of condensation. The sight made you stop short, eyes widening slightly.

Alastor had his head propped back on the high edge of the tub, submerged in the water up to his chest. His eyes were closed and his smile was gentle, the smoke dangling rather charmingly from his lips. He had slicked his hair back with a wet hand, the dark strands damp but not soaked, their natural wave showing against the hair pomade he usually styled it with. The bath was hot enough that you were able to see drops of perspiration beading near his hairline and against his temples. His glasses were set by the sink, as was his watch and the pair of black leather gloves he favoured. Abruptly, your stomach dropped; the sink was stained with red, as was the water in his bath. Your eyes darted to the pile of clothing he had shed surprisingly haphazardly by the hamper and found _red_. When your eyes moved back to him, you noticed (with a rapidly increasing heartbeat) that he had a smear of blood on his face.

“I-Is that,” You cleared your throat. “Is that _yours_?” 

He cracked one brown eye and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, “No darling,” He took a deep drag off his smoke. “I had to bleed a deer this evening and simply lost track of the time. I thought of waking you when I came in but you looked rather peaceful.”

You eyed his clothing one last time before turning and moving the rest of the distance to the tub, “I didn't realize I was that tired...” You realized you weren't sure of the time, although a glance out the darkened window confirmed the moon had risen high, the night an inky black.

“You work too hard, dearest,” Alastor simpered, eyes flickering over your form as you moved to rest against the edge of the tub.

“I'm lucky to have work, Al.” You watched the water swirl as he shifted, although you were demure enough to keep your eyes from leering at his body. “Not everyone can say that.”

Alastor hummed his agreement and took one last drag on the clove cigarette, “Ashtray if you please, sweetheart.”

You walked to the sink and took the small crystalline tray off the counter and held it out so he could snub the butt out. You watched him as he sat up, gory water sloshing slightly. Although he was rather on the slim side, his muscle tone was evident, wiry strength hinting at his passion for hunting. You trailed your eyes across his broad shoulders, following the graceful slope of his neck upwards and watching as water from his damp hair beaded and ran down his temples. He slicked it back once more (you noticed he had blood under his nails still-)

“Al,” You paused. “You-you have blood in your _hair_...”

“Hmm? Ah,” Alastor ran his hand through his dark hair again, drawing it away to see the streak of watery red. “Yes, it was a rather stubborn creature. My shot didn't kill it, so I had to use my knife.” There was a strange glint in his eyes as he spoke, and your belly twisted uncomfortably at the sight.

You scrunched your nose, “That's entirely too morbid.”

His chuckle rumbled up deep from within his chest before he leaned backwards and dunked his head. Politeness was bred into your bloodline, your momma had always said, and so you hastily averted your eyes until you heard the water slosh again as he came back up. Your sight landed on the vanity and the cupboard you knew housed some of the personal care items you had stashed away.

“Can I wash it for you?” You blurted. Heat flamed across your cheeks at the implication (your momma had warned you about the tact needed by unwed girls), but the soft grin on Alastor's face only encouraged you. “I have some shampoo, it's nice. Much better than using soap...”

He raised an eyebrow at your forwardness and you felt your breath hitch. He was oddly sensitive to most forms of contact, and you knew his head and hair were one of the few places he did not typically welcome touch.

“Do you trust me?” The question tumbled from your lips before you could stop yourself. You immediately began to chew on your bottom lip, worried your brashness might bother him.

Alastor blinked owlishly. It was rare, but as you watched his tongue dart out to wet his lip, you knew he had been caught off guard by your words. He watched you closely through half-lidded eyes, an odd expression masking over his face. You waited silently, unsure of how he might respond. After a few more moments of quiet, his lips quirked into a smirk and he nodded, turning his back to you once more.

You quickly moved to the cupboard and brought back the small bottle of shampoo. You poured a dollop into your palm and then drew up the small stool that sat at the vanity, trying your best to keep your eyes trained above the top of his chest. Hands reaching out, you stopped short and hesitated; although he had permitted you, it seemed to be an ingrained habit by now to wait for his consent.

“Go ahead, doll,” His grin was evident in his tone.

Heart fluttering, you gently pressed your palms to his wet hair, before curling your fingers through his locks. He stiffened when your nails scratched his scalp slightly, and you paused until you saw the muscles in his neck and shoulders ease. You hummed lightly, as though to soothe him, fingers quickly moving once more to work up the suds.

You took your time, selfishly enjoying the rare moment for extended contact, and made sure to pay extra attention to the sensitive area behind each ear and at the back of his head. You pressed your fingers here, adding a little more pressure to the circles your fingers were drawing and his head lolled forward, as though encouraging you. By the time your fingers moved to massage his temples, his body was so lax you worried momentarily he might slip beneath the water. You had never quite seen him this mellow and although you shared plenty of intimate moments together -frustratingly chaste as they were- watching the tension leave his body had a sense of pride flaring in your chest.

You gave one more good scrub to the crown of his head and then quickly rinsed your hands in the sink, not wishing to touch the water _in the tub_. You grabbed the small pitcher that sat there and filled it with clean water from the tap. You turned to see he had leaned against the wall of the tub, ignoring the soapsuds in his hair in favour of resting his head back. You watched as a bead of soapy water trickled down from his temple to the top of his clavicle and you were hit with the sudden desire to trace its path with your lips-

With a shake of your head, hoping he wouldn't notice your flaming cheeks, you cleared your throat, “Um,” You hesitated again, not used to giving him commands. “I'll rinse if you sit forward.”

One soulful brown eye cracked, his relaxation evident in the lines of his face. He squinted slightly as though to bring you into focus and you bit the inside of your cheek to stem any giggles. He was rather sensitive about his farsightedness after all, and you didn't want to ruin this odd moment of intimacy. He caught your glee regardless ( _because of course, he did_ ) and with a quirk of his lips, Alastor once again leaned forward. This time, he drew his long legs up to rest his elbows on his knees and tipped his head back. The upside-down grin he sent your way made butterflies burst in your stomach. As though satisfied you were thoroughly charmed, he closed his eyes and allowed his smile to soften.

You took a brief moment to greedily eye his form like this. You swallowed against the sudden dryness in your mouth at the sight of his uncovered torso, allowing yourself to ogle the muscles in his shoulders and back. He murmured your name and promptly brought your focus back. Cheeks now surely permanently red, you cleared your throat before beginning to rinse the bubbles from his hair. You had to pause twice more to fetch clean water, but eventually the coarse strands rinsed clean and you grabbed a small towel before gently beginning to take off the excess water.

After a moment, his large hands came up to cup yours and he squeezed. You knew what it meant and immediately eased your pampering, allowing him to take the towel from your hands. He finished with a small shake, causing a few errant water droplets to fly about and a surprised giggle fell from your lips as you felt a few land against your face.

“I'll make more coffee,” You stood, meaning to give him privacy while he finished up, taking a moment to stretch some of the stiffness from your spine as you straightened up and moved towards the door.

“Darling?”

You paused, hand lingering on the doorknob.

“I'm afraid you've forgotten one thing.” There was a hint of disappointment in his voice, just enough to make a rare moment of doubt come over you.

“Oh,” You said softly, unsure of just what. Your feet carried you back to the side of the tub regardless, eyes searching his face as he once again moved to sink into the water. He still wore the grin on his face, but eyed you just as closely, a light hum leaving his lips.

“I can fetch your razor, maybe a shave...”

His warm, wet hands came up to cup behind your ears, just where the sensitive skin met between your jaw and neck. He pulled your head down and brushed his mouth against yours. You sighed through your nose and pressed against his mouth with more persistence, unable to keep your desire hidden. You felt his lips twitch and then his hands drew you in closer, your nose brushing against his chin from this new angle.

The butterflies were back, swooping low in your belly and coiling hotly in your core. He brought one finger up to twist a strand of your hair and gave it a playful tug, making you gasp in surprise. Alastor took this opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue darting out to taste you. By the time he pulled back, you were panting, breast heaving rather enticingly under the plain material of your dress. He gave you a roguish wink and a tap on the tip of your nose, and you understood yourself to have been dismissed.

You passed him a cup of black coffee when he joined you back in his quaint kitchen a short time later. He had dressed in his usual choice of button-up and pressed slacks, although he had forgone the suspenders or tie. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows and his damp hair was slicked back, the natural waves ensuring a few strands fell attractively across his forehead; you caught sight of another clove cigarette tucked neatly behind his left ear as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips as thanks. He looked perfect as ever, and your heart stammered as it always did when he chose to gift you with unspoken affection.

“Can I see it?” The question bubbled up as he pulled away from you. You could've smacked yourself, flustered slightly by how forward you found yourself being. “The...I, erm, I meant the deer. Can you show me?”

He raised an eyebrow and stepped back enough so that he could lean against the counter. He took a small sip from his mug, his dark eyes watching you from over the rim. You often felt as though he was looking right through you during times like this, and it set pleasant goosebumps rising on your flesh.

“Well, now...” He trailed off, his eyes roaming over your form before moving to look out the small window that was above the sink. His gaze lingered on the outline of the small shed you knew sat on the edge of the cleared property, the place you knew he took his game.

He adjusted his glasses (although they were already just fine) and took a moment to speak, taking another deep drink from his mug. While you suspected he was merely teasing you, as he often did, your nerves got the best of you and you shifted under his gaze.

“I don't care if there's a mess, really. Just curious to see the beast that almost got the best of you.” You shot him a small wink, unable to keep the jest from your tone.

He huffed a short laugh and then nodded, placing his cup down on the counter. He offered his arm to you as he always did, and with mounting anticipation, you allowed him to steer you out of the quaint cabin and out into the late evening air. In the distance, the chirp of insects and the sound of the wind moving gently through the weeping willows floated on the breeze to your ears.

A short walk later had you in front of the small shed that stood on the edge of the clearing, the door padlocked and chained. You hesitated; you had never actually been inside the shed, having caught glimpses of meat strung to dry before, which put a damper on your natural curiosity. However, you were still feeling a bit giddy and reckless from the shared moment in the bathroom, and you wanted to further cement yourself here, as a fixture in his life; it seemed prudent to show interest in his interests. 

Alastor reached around you and produced a small key, unlocking the door and pushing it open on its hinge with a small creak. You realized at some point he had donned his leather gloves again, although they looked as though he had at least wiped them clean, as you watched him tuck the key back into his pants pocket. He gave you a wide grin and then motioned for you to step inside. You took a tentative step and felt him follow you in, pressing himself against your back as though support. There was a faint pop of electricity as the bare bulb overhead flickered to life and you found yourself staring at the cold, lifeless eyes of a rather large buck.

It was strung from the ceiling, chest empty and propped open, a rather large gash across its throat signifying he had in fact had to resort to using his knife. You trailed your eyes upwards and noticed the neat hole in the creature's side, although it did seem a little too high (though you were no expert). Looking around you realized there was little blood left behind, and you wondered briefly if he had cleaned it while out in the swamp before bringing it home to cure. After all, he had certainly ended up bloodied enough himself.

Alastor simply stood behind you, watching calmly as your gaze wandered around his workspace. The rest of the space was meticulously clean, his equipment well organized. You eyed the various knives and other apparatus on his workbench with mild interest; deciding you had seen enough of the inside of the poor creature, you moved to better look at his tools.

“You use all of these?” You looked to him quickly before turning back.

He hummed and tucked both hands behind his back, “Not all at once, but yes. They all have their uses.”

Your hand shot out on its own accord, hovering over the larger hunting blade that sat there. You stopped before making contact, your obedience so well ingrained that you waited for his consent to handle even these items. His grin grew and he nodded at you, one long finger coming to push his glasses back up his nose. Your lips quirked in a smile in response and you carefully picked up the blade, making sure to only touch the handle. It was massive in your smaller palm and had a surprising weight to it. The steel shone as though it had just been cleaned, and you abruptly realized it was most likely what had caused the damage to the stag's throat when the bullet failed.

“Hold it like this,” Alastor said softly, suddenly right behind you. You felt his firm chest behind your head as he reached around you and adjusted your grip on the handle. His nimble fingers positioned yours so your hand better wrapped around the hilt, the point deflected outwards and away.

You felt an odd sense of power, holding the blade as you were. You watched as the sharpened edge caught the light from the bulb overhead; it glinted dangerously and you couldn't seem to tear your eyes away from it. The hilt seemed to be constructed out of bone, small markings you did not recognize carved into the handle. Behind you, Alastor's breathing became ragged, although you were too caught up in your study to truly notice. He pressed himself closer to you (if that was even possible), and his hands drifted from where they had rested on your forearms, downwards along your sides to the jut of your hips, the leather of his gloves cool against your skin. You were now twisting the blade under the light, dazzled by the glint of the steel and the thrumming buzz that seemed to have settled in your fingertips. 

You were torn from your thoughts ( _power trip_ ) when you felt his gloved hands settle at the hem of your dress, fingertips teasing the soft skin on your thighs. Your question died on your lips when you felt his large hand press into the small of your back, so that you automatically leaned forward, the workbench now taking some of your weight. Your dress and thin slip were promptly rucked up to bunch at your hips, the small swell of your bum and the forward tilt of your body keeping it in place. Your heart leapt in your chest, pulse thundering now as you felt him press a kiss to the nape of your neck.

“Alastor?” You tried to turn your head to look at him, but the hand that wasn't on your back came to grasp your chin and you were made to look forward again. You did so without complaint and felt his grin through your hair as he nuzzled you with his nose.

“Good girl,” He cooed; your stomach clenched at his praise and a small thrill ran down your spine, only to pool in your core.

The hand that had been on your chin disappeared, only to trail across the patch of sensitive skin at the back of your knee; the other was kept at the small of your back, ensuring your body curved just right against the workbench. His fingertips moved from your knee (a well known ticklish spot) to the soft skin of your inner thigh; he gave you a slight pinch, making you gasp and jerk slightly in his hold. He chuckled, fingers already massaging the spot, easing the lingering sting. Those same fingers dusted along your leg, higher until they came to rest just shy of the crux between your legs. You felt the ghost of his thumb press ever so softly against the thin cloth that separated him from the bundle of nerves hidden there. You sucked in a sharp breath and bit your lip, unsure of how to act; acts of such intimacy were far and few between with Alastor, and although you were not bothered by his preferences, it was still a thrill when he seemed to give in to actions that more closely mirrored your desires. His palm suddenly cupped your mound, your breath whistling past your teeth in your surprise.

“Do you trust me?” He spoke the words into your neck, lips pressed to your pulse point. He had curled himself along the curve of your spine, his taller frame effectively keeping you pined.

You faltered, so caught up in your warring emotions of shock and desire that you couldn't quite focus on the meaning behind him repeating your own earlier words. He sighed your name, breath washing hotly against your skin, firing off sparks of pleasure in your belly. You subconsciously shifted, trying to press yourself more into the palm of his hand; he shifted away, as though threatening to leave if you continued to ignore his prompt. You knew he didn't typically like to have to ask twice...

“Yes,” You breathed in the still air of the shed; the gore behind you long forgotten as Alastor moved to press the heel of his hand to your folds once more. You felt the thin material of your underclothing stick to the slick that was gathering there, the coolness of the leather of his glove a stark contrast to the heat you were emitting. “Yes, I trust you, Alastor.”

You were surprised then when the hand between your legs withdrew. If you had thought to question him for the rather confusing turn of events, all thoughts escaped your mind when he took the knife from your grasp and within moments, you felt the cool touch of the blade against your thigh, the tip just barely pressing into the same spot where he had pinched before. The blade shifted so that the dulled edge pressed to your flesh instead. Alastor dragged it down your leg, to the top of your knee and then back again. Just as he reached the inner skin of your upper thigh, his hand twisted just enough so that the sharp edge nicked your flesh; the resulting sting told you he had broken the skin. You jerked out of reflex, but his body behind yourself kept you in place.

He tutted behind you, and the blade trailed outwards slightly. Another quick twist of his hand had the blade scratching another cut into the fuller flesh of your upper thigh. This time, you couldn't hold in the shocked groan that escaped you and abruptly his other hand came to rest loosely around your throat. He merely left his hand to rest there, the weight more than enough warning to keep you still. Your mind wandered to that night in the alley, after you had run from Mimzy's speakeasy, the feeling of leather against your neck all too familiar. The heat in your belly filtered with a heavy sense of dread; you had never fully spoken at length about what had occurred between the two of you that night. Alastor had returned to his usual charming self and you had been too relieved at still receiving his attention that you did not think to challenge his behaviour.

You were so lost in your rush of thoughts that you didn't realize Alastor had moved, positioning your body upright more so he could continue running the blade along your skin. The flat, broadside of it ran along the length of your arm, over the jutting bone of your collarbone and down to the soft swell of your breast until it came to rest against your sternum, dangerously sharp point against the skin there.

“Pain and pleasure can be mixed...” He murmured into your hairline, lips brushing your temple as the pain began to fade. He seemed to falter, as his uncertainty over more carnal activities appeared. His voice had an odd tone to it when he spoke next, “I've been doing some extra reading on certain subjects...if you'll indulge me for a moment, darling.”

Your unease was much too evident in the harsh breaths you were pulling in. Although you remained pliant in his hold, you suddenly wished fervently to be away from the shed and back in the comfort of his cabin, back where this more savage side of him was tucked away under the guise of domesticity.

“Al-” You whispered, unable to keep the tremble from your voice. The hand at your throat gave you a slight squeeze, the tightening of his fingers more of a reflex than anything.

The knife moved from your sternum to the swell of your left breast, pushed upwards from the awkward position of your body and aided by the undergarment you still wore. Another quick flash of steel and a thin red line appeared there, a few errant droplets of blood oozing up. Your stomach clenched, a wave of nausea flaring up. You swallowed thickly, your pulse now racing.

The hand at your throat moved downwards, and with it you were able to angle your head so you could look down. You watched as his leather-clad fingers dabbed the blood, smearing it across your collarbone. You squeezed your eyes shut, unwilling to take in much more of the ghastly sight; therefore you missed him raise his fingers to his mouth, his tongue darting out to capture any remains of blood. He sucked his pointer and middle finger for a moment, before dropping back to your lower half. The hand that still held the blade returned to your front, his fist pressing into your stomach so as to keep you pressed to him.

Eyes still closed tightly, you were about to ask ( _beg_ ) him to let you go when the first timid touch of his still-slick fingers probed between your legs. Your eyes flew open and your neck arched in such a way that allowed you to stare up at him; his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide and his nostrils flaring as though catching the heavy iron scent in the air. He was sweating slightly, causing his glasses to slip down his nose and you noticed a smear of red against one corner of his mouth. Locking eyes with you then, he gently pushed aside the thin material of your rather plain underwear, his pointer finger running along the inside your folds, his movements eased by the slick that still lingered there. Your mouth dropped and he eagerly captured your lips with his own, swallowing your groan hungrily. His hand pushed forward, his long finger easing inside your quivering core. He crooked his finger then, the smooth leather of his glove causing just enough friction that your muscles clenched, greedily keeping him in place. He repeated this action several times, until the pressure in your belly returned and licks of pleasure began to dance up your spine to buzz at the base of your skull; the pain of the nicks on your skin began to fade under the attention he was lavishing upon you. You felt yourself gush, shame heating your cheeks and causing you to pull away from the onslaught of his mouth against yours. 

“Al-” You tried again, but he quickly plunged his middle finger into your slick core; this time your eyes closed at the intrusion and your head rolled forward, the sudden addition causing your muscles to clench almost painfully.

He blessedly gave your body a moment to adjust, before he pulled his fingers out and pushed them back in again, stroking your inner walls until a soft flutter bloomed in your core. The leather of his glove had warmed from the contact, but you were positively _soaked_ , his motions easy and smooth. He twisted his hand slightly so that his thumb could nudge against your clit with every motion of his fingers. Rather lewd sounds filled the space, filtering around your gasps and Alastor's uneven breathing. All too quickly, the pressure building in your belly soared and crested, your muscles fluttering and quivering around his fingers. Stars burst behind your closed eyelids and your mouth dropped open, a shamefully loud moan tumbling from you. You pitched forward, both arms falling outwards to catch yourself as you fell forward, the strength of your sudden orgasm leaving your frame trembling and weak. 

Alastor removed his hand from between your thighs, an obscene squelch reaching your ears. Your skin was on fire, but you still felt the shame flame across your cheeks; you were all too aware of how unladylike your behaviour had been. There was something cool pressing into the softness of your stomach and you realized with a shock that he still had the knife in the fist he held there. His other hand moved to brush strands of sticky hair from your neck, so he could better fasten his lips against your pulse point, seemingly enjoying the rush of blood under your flushed skin. He cooed your name, running his nose up to the shell of your ear. He nipped you there, but you barely flinched, still boneless in his grip, the worktable and his one arm holding most of your weight.

“Good girl, such a good girl,” Alastor crooned, breath tickling the baby-hairs that stuck to your temple. “You did so well for me.”

Despite the fact that you were still coming down from your high, your core clenched at his words, the sense of emptiness almost making you cry out. You were saved from embarrassing yourself further by the sound of the knife falling to the work table, the faint metallic clank pulling you from your rapid thoughts. He manoeuvred you then so you turned to face him, and he used the same two fingers that had been inside of you to tip your chin up, better for him to press a kiss to your lips. The faint taste of iron lingered against his mouth, and some warning shot off in your brain before he deepened the kiss and you were forced to focus on him alone. He kissed you until you both were breathless, pulling back so you could suck in harsh, deep breaths. His thin chest was heaving, and some unfamiliar look was in his dark eyes as his gaze trailed over the cut he had made to your breast, the blood clotted and dried. You shifted under his scrutiny, embarrassment and unease loosening your tongue.

“W-What kind of books are you reading?” You stammered; your cheeks still held a rather pretty blush.

Alastor blinked and then threw his head back with a hearty laugh. The familiar sound washed over you and under the exhaustion at your tryst, you felt yourself relax, a small grin breaking across your face. He adjusted his glasses once more as his laughter trailed off, his lips quirking up into an all too charming smirk and all too happily you realized you were in much too deep for your own good.

“Let's get you cleaned up, little songbird, and then perhaps it's best if I get you home,” He watched you closely behind his rounded spectacles, his tone sinfully dark. “Before I lose all my control...”

You nodded dumbly, thighs pressing together despite everything. His hand came to rest on the small of your back once more and he urged you forward. As you moved, you caught sight of the dark, cold, unseeing eyes of the stag staring back at you as though in judgment. Goosebumps flared across your skin and you adjusted your slip and dress as best as you could, feeling the material catch slightly on the tacky blood that coated your thigh.

Once back inside his home, you were promptly sat up on the counter next to the kitchen sink. You watched as he peeled off his gloves and then washed his hands. With a wink, he disappeared for a moment and brought back a soft washcloth, which he wet under the tap and began to dab across your cut chest. Once he deemed it satisfactory, he knelt between your legs to gently push the material of your dress up once more and began cleaning the small nicks along your leg. The rather lascivious sight made your heart nearly burst from your chest and you _knew_ you were blushing like some silly schoolgirl.

Dreading him catching you leering, you made yourself focus on the wounds he was cleaning. Looking closer, you realized just how small they were, despite the initial sting of the blade against your skin. With a sudden wave of uncertainty, you looked closer at your chest and noticed that the cut to your skin there was longer and just deep enough to properly draw blood; although you doubted it would need much tending to now that it was cleaned and the bleeding stopped. Still, the sight of it made a sudden heavy emotion bubble up in your gut and you felt oddly shivery.

Alastor's warm hand sliding up the back of your leg to cup your thigh brought your focus back. He too was staring at the small cuts, although there was some unreadable emotion on his face. You watched with your heart fluttering madly in your chest, as he leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to the thigh he was holding, lips falling just short of touching the marks. He stood then, adjusting his glasses and giving the rest of you a look over. His eyes lingered on the mark on your chest and you found yourself adjusting the collar of your dress, suddenly nervous under his scrutiny.

Alastor caught the signs of your unease, one hand coming up to brush your hair back and tuck it behind your ear, sighing your name softly. He raked his eyes over your face, raising both eyebrows and giving you a gentle smile. You felt your own hesitant grin break across your features, encouraged by his gentle behaviour.

“There's my girl,” Alastor crooned, grin widening. He helped you down off the counter, taking the time to adjust your clothing himself. “Home then, yes?”

You nodded, not quite trusting yourself to speak after all the trouble your tongue had gotten you into this particular night.

*******************************

It seemed to take no time at all to reach your doorstep, although the light of early dawn was breaking. You grudgingly let go of Alastor's arm and stepped up the stoop. You paused and turned to face him, noting you were almost eye to eye from this vantage point. His dark hair seemed to glow under the brightening sunlight, making him somehow even more heart-achingly perfect; however, there was a sombre look in his eyes, unlike what you were used to seeing from such an animated, vibrant person. After everything you had experienced together, you felt uncertainty bloom in your chest and in a moment of nerves you chewed your bottom lip. His eyes tracked your movements before he lifted his hand and traced the curve of your mouth with his thumb, as though silently admonishing you.

When he next pressed his lips to yours, there was a sense of urgency. It was far from the usual chaste peck he normally granted you while this exposed (you were a young, unwed girl after all), but you found yourself melting into his kiss regardless. His large hands closed over your wrists and he pulled you closer in such a way that you had to roll to the balls of your feet and brace against him. Your pulse quickened and you were panting by the time he pulled away.

“You're mine,” He said, voice so low you barely heard him. He rested his forehead against yours and you shared breath for a moment. In an act of forwardness you planted a kiss to the tip of his nose and then trailed your lips to the corner of his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to his top lip.

“Always,” You breathed. The sun was almost above the horizon now, late-summer morning light casting everything in a dreamy warmth.

“And your mine?” You couldn't keep the questioning lilt that spiked your words. You abruptly felt much too emotional.

He rubbed his nose against yours, mimicking your earlier actions and tracing down to your chin with his lips. His hair tickled your forehead, and you found yourself offering up the sensitive skin of your neck as his mouth continued on its path. He stood back suddenly, causing you to rock back on your heels. He steadied you, enveloping one of your hands between the two of his (the size difference almost comedic), before bending to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist. He gave you a wink and nodded to the front window-

Your face flushed when you looked to find your sister peeking from the curtains. Perhaps noticing she had been found out, Abigail popped out of view, the curtains fluttering in her haste.

The little sneak...

Not wanting to further embarrass yourself in front of the man, you sent him a dazzling smile and gave the hand you were still holding a small squeeze, before slipping away to escape through the door. You gently closed it and leaned back against it with a small groan, exhaustion washing over you. You took a moment to straighten yourself out, double-checking that the collar of your dress still covered the mark on your breast, and then took to your room, hoping to avoid any harsh questioning by your younger sibling. You caught sight of your bed and promptly tumbled into it; knowing you had time between now and your dinner shift, you didn't bother undressing, simply falling into a light doze.

You awoke much later that day to the sound of Abigail excitedly shouting your name. A glance at the clock on your bedside table told you it was late afternoon, not long before you would be expected at work. You donned your house robe and moved down the stairs, working on clearing the fog of sleep from your head. There, in your family's almost-too small kitchen, sat a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers, freshly picked and masterfully arranged, with a small card with your name in looping cursive on the envelope. You took a moment to touch the soft petals of a rather stunning magnolia before picking up the card and opening it. Your heart leapt; inside, neatly scrawled in the same handwriting was the word

**Always**

**Author's Note:**

> Was it really a deer Alastor was so busy with? After midnight? *side eye*  
> I have my suspicions ;) 
> 
> As always, thank you for sinning with me!


End file.
